"You don't need to assure me of that," I interrupted. "I shall call upon you without an instant's hesitation."
"Thank you," and he wrung my hand and was gone.
How would the story end? I asked myself the question again, as I sank back into my seat. And I could find no answer to it.
But the end was nearer than I had thought.
It was near closing time one afternoon, and we were finishing up some odds and ends of work, when the door opened, and in came Burr Curtiss. We were on our feet in an instant—Mr. Royce and I—and had him by the hands. He was greatly changed—older and thinner, with an increased lankness of jaw; but he had regained his equilibrium. He was no longer dazed by the blow fate had dealt him. The firm-set lips told that he had taught himself how to face the world and his own future.
We sat down after the first greetings, and then there was a little pause. I was uncertain how to begin; I had a horror of opening old wounds which I saw that Mr. Royce acutely shared.
"Well, I'm back," Curtiss began, seeing our hesitation and no doubt understanding it. "I soon found out that I'd undertaken a hopeless task."
"Then you didn't find her?" asked Mr. Royce.
"No," answered the other evenly. "I completely lost track of her after she left Liverpool. I was able to trace her to the station, and to find that she'd taken train for London, and that was all. So I decided that the wisest thing for me to do was to come home. My boat got in an hour ago—and I came straight here for news."